


I was a heavy heart to carry

by aeriamamaduck



Series: Cyrodiil's Child [5]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Campfires, Death, Dreams and Nightmares, Exhaustion, Father-Son Relationship, Flashbacks, Forests, Introspection, Lack of Sleep, Loss of Identity, Martin's POV, Memories, Observations, Pre-Relationship, Sleep Deprivation, Tension, Worry, loss of home, of traumatized priests and tired knights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8400271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeriamamaduck/pseuds/aeriamamaduck
Summary: It is the night after Minerva Saturnius closes the Oblivion Gate and helps liberate Kvatch. Martin, the new Emperor, attempts to reconcile himself to his new reality in the dark forest on the way to Chorrol, all while evading the nightmares of what occurred in a city that still smolders behind him.





	

The crackling fire did little to warm Martin's body that night, and he sensed it was the same for the young woman sitting across from him. They had mutually decided it was best to stop as the sky began to darken, and Minerva looked rather relieved to finally be able to sit, even if they were not even halfway towards their destination.

They got a fire started, Martin feeling a momentary pang of fear at the sensation of heat before he sat farther away from the flames. He was tired, yes, but his mind was a flurry of conflicting thoughts and emotions, all of it brought about by the dark-haired knight in front of him.

She certainly looked the part now more than she did when he first saw her in the chapel, having discarded her ruined leathers in favor of the cuirass of white and black, bearing the sigil that would haunt Martin's memories. Even so she looked utterly exhausted, dark shadows beneath her eyes, soot stains on her face, and her hair completely disheveled. "You really ought to sleep," Martin said, trying to keep the hostility from his voice even as he kept going over everything she had come to tell him.

It was not her fault, none of it. 

Her green eyes, nearly burning golden in the firelight, looked up at him. She shook her head, the action slow and simple yet indicative of a stubborn streak. "I'm fine, Your Majesty--"

Yes, undoubtedly stubborn. Martin immediately interrupted her, "Please, I've told you there's no need for that." He did not mean to sound irritated, but he did not feel like any sort of royalty. How could someone like him deserve such a lofty title, especially after he'd spent so long trying to piece his sad excuse for a life back together as a priest. How had his life gotten to this point? Why did he have to be the one Minerva was searching for.

Her eyes somehow softened much more as she gazed at him, the generosity of it making his chest ache. Still, she firmly said, "There will be a need once we get you safely to the Imperial City."

He sighed, not wanting to argue with her further on that point. In the end she was right, he would be hearing that for the rest of his life once they made it out of this wretched forest. _Just pray, Martin. Pray for an endless supply of patience._  He opted for doing her at least one favor. "You look exhausted. How long's it been since you last slept properly?"

At that Minerva almost drew into herself, pulling her knees closer to her chest and touching a hand to her stomach, a brief grimace appearing on her face. "...Days," she replied quietly, rubbing an eye with the heel of her hand. "I'm no good to anyone like this."

 _Tell that to the people you helped save,_ Martin thought, unable to forget how Savlian had handed her the cuirass with almost a touch of reverence. Unable to forget how, in spite of her weariness and fear, she volunteered to help take back the castle. He gave her the kindest smile he could muster and said, "Go on. I'll not tell this Jauffre that you were lax in your duties."

Still she looked at him with uncertainty, and he watched her fingers reflexively touch the hilt of her sword. He rolled his eyes with a sharp sigh. "By the Nine, haven't I already proven I can take care of myself? I can handle myself around imps and goblins."

She looked slightly apologetic at that and began to tentatively lie down on her side, still facing him. "Please wake me if you hear anything unusual," she said, laying her head on her arm and closing her eyes, her brow still furrowed.

"Rest easy," Martin murmured, hoping that at least one of them would.

Minutes passed before it appeared that Minerva had finally relaxed, her breathing steady and her brow smoothed. Martin pressed his fingers to his temples and asked for the hundredth time why everything had to happen so quickly. Why did this young woman have to find her way into the Emperor's dreams?

Why did the people around him have to suffer? Again and again, dozens of innocent people dead because of him.  _They killed the royal family and knew I was in Kvatch. What then was the point of the Emperor hiding me away with..._

His father. The man who raised him, loved him, taught him all he could. The man he failed.

The flames danced merrily before him, as if unaware of the turmoil in his soul. Beyond them, Minerva looked unlike the dangerous swordswoman who had cut down every daedra that appeared before her, completely asleep and oblivious to everything. 

All of these years and he had another family. The Emperor, a figure Martin had given little thought to, his father. The princes his brothers. Brothers who all lay dead, along with their families. The thought sent a chill through Martin's body and he prayed that at least their ends were quick. 

He wondered just how much his father had known of his origins, if he knew he was raising the natural son of the Emperor. He had little to no memory of his mother, save for snatches of work-roughened hands stroking his hair as he fell asleep, a sweet voice singing him a lullaby. How many times had he and his father clashed, Father chastising him for his irresponsible behavior, his unhealthy obsession with power, all because he loved a boy he had taken in, with or without the knowledge of his origins.

Of course it was true. In his heart he had accepted the truth of Minerva's words, though it did not bring him the joy and vindication he once thought it would. As a youth he'd always thought himself as destined for far more than the life of a simple farmer, his talent far too obvious, his ambition great. Surely he was bound for more than the plot of land his father had worked until his dying day, for a far greater sky where he could truly be free.

 _Father, forgive me,_ he thought, not for the first time. He remembered standing in the middle of the carnage, his friends' faces twisted in agony as they lay scattered in pieces around him. He remembered kneeling beside one of them, blood trickling through messy black hair, once luminous green eyes bloodshot and darkened. He had begged for forgiveness. Begged for protection. Begged for death.

Death would not come so easily for him, it seemed. 

Not even when he was sitting in the middle of a dark forest, assassins hunting him and his escort in deep slumber. 

Or at least she was for a while until she began to twitch and whimper, her arms moving to cover her head as she curled into a tighter ball and moaned fearfully.

Alarmed, Martin started to get to his feet when suddenly Minerva awakened with a cry, her eyes wild as she sat up and stared at him, trying to figure out where she was. "What...who...?"

Martin raised a calming hand, slowly and clearly telling her, "Don't worry, you're safe."

Minerva instantly sagged and panted hard, covering her terror-flooded eyes with her hand and asking shakily, "How long has it been?"

He watched her hand find her ribs yet again and realized he likely did not want to know what nightmares her recent experiences may have induced. "Not long. Perhaps an hour, or so."

She nodded, accepting his answer as she slowly got to her feet and stretched, making Martin wonder if the ground had been a little too painful for her to sleep on. Her eyes fell on him again, fear replaced by a concern that Martin felt in his bones. "You must be tired too," she said, her voice coaxing him slightly.

He was tempted to let her but shook his head. "I'm fine," he said resolutely.  _I don't want to face the horrors of sleep just yet._

Minerva said nothing else, but she seemed to understand. She sat back down and gave him an attempt at an encouraging smile. "We'll rest a little easier once we're in the Imperial City and all of this is over."

He thought of waking up to the earth shaking and screams tearing through the air, knowing that in spite of his misgivings about even setting foot in White-Gold Tower he had to make sure nothing like that ever happened again. No one else needed to die because of him. "Of course," he said quietly, his eyelids becoming heavier as the minutes passed.


End file.
